


Snow Falling On City Blocks

by tielan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fakeout Makeout, Food Friendship, Huddling For Warmth, Literal Sleeping Together, Sexual Tension, Snow and Ice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 22:59:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6678880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He glances at the woman beside him and wonders. “What do you see?”</p><p>Hill glances at him, a startled blink of blue eyes beneath ridiculously long, curling dark lashes. “Cover. Concealment. Cold.” The smile flickers sideways. “And, apparently, alliterative tendencies.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow Falling On City Blocks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rina (rinadoll)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinadoll/gifts).



> Your prompt in the Ship Swap exchange inspired me, so I hope you don't mind me gifting this to you.

Steve is two steps into the office before he realises there’s a woman standing at the window, silhouetted against the cloudy sky. Her back is to the door; she’s staring out over the Potomac River where the first flurries of snow are drifting down over the city. And she trusts the security in this place, because she hasn’t turned around to see who’s come in.

 _Maria Hill,_ he thinks, recalling her name after a moment.

It goes some way to explaining why she’s here. Carla told him to go right in and wait since Fury was delayed by ten minutes due to traffic snarls in the city.

“Captain,” she says, without turning around.

“Lieutenant.” He’s not sure if that’s the correct title – didn’t Romanoff mention something about an unexpected but deserved promotion – but it’s the closest he has. “I was told to come in and wait.”

“As was I.” But she doesn’t look at him, and after hesitating by the lounge area of the office, Steve goes to stand beside her at the window.

Lieutenant Hill glances at him, the outside light casting shadows across her features, illuminating the fading black eye she’s sporting. At least a few days old, Steve judges through the hot beat of anger that rises in him at the sight of violence on her skin – more purple and green and yellow than black anymore. Seeing his expression, the austere face softens a little.

“It was a fair fight, Captain.”

“I trust you gave better than you got.”

“He’s in custody now. Our people are dealing with it.” This time she smiled, a slight curve of her mouth. It was, Steve thought suddenly, a mouth made for keeping secrets. Or murmuring them, perhaps.

Frowning a little at the thought, Steve looks out across the dark river and the flakes of snow that are fluttering down over the black trunks of the trees. It’s a bleak landscape, the bare-branched trees thickly set against the scudding clouds in the grey sky. Yet a line of cars proceed along the road, following the shoreline of the river, and tiny figures drift along the pathways – brave souls to be out in such a chill.

He glances at the woman beside him and wonders. “What do you see?”

Hill glances at him, a startled blink of blue eyes beneath ridiculously long, curling dark lashes. “Cover. Concealment. Cold.” The smile flickers sideways. “And, apparently, alliterative tendencies.”

Steve grins at the self-deprecating humour. “You kind of skipped out on the last word, though.”

“Mm.” After a moment, she asks, “What do _you_ see?”

He thinks about it for a moment; remembering a train fight and a lost friend, a mountain and an enemy, a long icy sleep dreaming of a woman who moved on without him. “A fresh start,” he says after a moment. “A reminder that seasons pass.”

She blinks again. “Optimistic.”

Steve turns to frown at her, unsure if that’s surprise or mockery. “Is that necessarily a bad thing?”

“Holster your weapon, Captain.” This time, the words _are_ mocking, and she opens her mouth to say something more, but is interrupted as the door to the office hisses open and Fury strides in.

“Captain. Commander. Glad to see that everyone made it.”

“Director.”

“Sir.”

“So, Captain,” Fury says, wasting no time on the niceties. “You’d like to come to work for S.H.I.E.L.D?”

Steve catches the slight narrowing of Hill’s eyes – those lashes of her are like damn fans – and realises that Fury enjoys his secrets, even from those he apparently trusts. Something to remember in future – along with the way Commander Hill sizes him up; no longer a woman holding an easy conversation with an acquaintance, but an officer judging a soldier who’s been landed in her command.

* * *

Rogers reaches down one hand when he reaches the top, and, exhausted, Maria doesn’t ignore it. There’s a time to be stiff-necked, but over a four-hundred yard vertical drop in a snowstorm is not it. She pushes herself up with the last of her energy and sprawls, ungainly, on the ledge behind the facility.

“Still alive?” Rogers crouches down beside her. She can’t see his smile, but she can hear it in his voice through the tranceiver piece.

“And don’t I know it.” She catches her breath and looks around, taking stock of where they’ve arrived. “There’s some scrub fifty metres around the side; it should be sheltered enough that we can get something up and shelter until the drop team are due. The storm’s going to delay them some.”

He nods, the scarf and the fast-blowing snow obscuring all but the most obvious movements. “I’ll scout it out.”

Maria snorts as she climbs to her feet. “We’ll go together. Too easy to lose each other in this wind.”

His answer to that is to offer her one hand. Maria looks at it coolly – as though she’s going to hold hands with Captain America! “You lead, I’ll follow.” Her solution of her hand holding onto the back of his insulated jacket is still personal, but rather less intimate than hand-holding.

Of course, once they get to the scrubby copse at the edge of the compound, the realisation of just how intimate things are going to be hits her. There’s an emergency shelter in the pack with a tiny power-pack to provide low-level shielding for insulation. They can use in the midst of the storm since power expenditure isn’t going to be monitored in this kind of weather, but it’s really only for one.

Well, maybe for two people who don’t mind sharing space and body heat.

“Uh,” he says when it’s done and he sees the size of it. “You’re okay with this?”

Maria’s answer is to climb in. In a choice between privacy and survival, survival is going to win every time. And it’s not like she’s never shared body heat with a guy before.

Of course, those times were personal, and the guy wasn’t Steve Rogers.

He eases himself inside, somewhat gingerly, settling on his side beside her on the marginally padded floor of the shelter as she activates the closure of the tent, and the insulating shield.

With the wind no longer dragging their body heat out into the storm, Maria no longer feels like she’s freezing. Oh, she’s still cold, but she suspects she’s not going to be for long – not when she’s got a human furnace lying beside her, the breadth of his shoulders making it really difficult to—

“This isn’t going to work,” she says after a second. “Reconfigure.”

She shuffles over, making space between them, and indicating he should shift over to lie on his back. Rogers does so, his expression a little wary.

“Try not to take this personally,” she advises as she eases herself on top of him.

“Okay. Um. I’ll try not to.” The answer is a rumble of air in his chest, the resonances audible in his throat as his heart thumps firmly under her hand. He shifts his hips, ever so slightly. Not that she can feel anything happening, but... “I’d appreciate it if you returned the compliment.”

“Deal.”

Yes, it’s awkward in all kinds of ways, but she’s pretty sure Rogers isn’t the type to kiss and tell. The fact that Peggy Carter got out of the war with nothing more than a few rumours is testament to that, and although the times may have changed, the man hasn’t.

He blows out a breath, then his chest huffs as he laughs. “I guess this puts a new spin on getting to know each other, anyway.”

Maria huffs in amusement herself.

* * *

There’s a light on in the offices, and Steve glances in, wondering who’s working this late—Oh.

Hill types out a few more lines then frowns down at whatever she’s just written and says, “Something you want, Cap?”

“Nothing, Commander. Just looking in on my way up.” He glances out into the empty and dark house that serves as S.H.I.E.L.D’s base of Operations in this country, and then back at the woman sitting at the desk. “You’re the only one in?”

“Apart from you.” She looks up and her smile is polite and a little weary. Whatever’s got her attention, Steve has no doubt she’s been at it for several hours now – since he and the rest of STRIKE went out to check out the local nightlife. “Don’t let me keep you, Captain.”

He nearly takes her at his word. What strikes the spark of rebellion? He’s not sure.

“Have you had dinner?”

She looks up from the tablet. “Is it any of your business?”

“Simple concern, Hill. And the fact that you’re prevaricating suggests that you haven’t.”

“There are snack bars in here—Hey!” She’s not fast enough to grab the tablet as he snatches it out of her hand, careful not to touch the screen and compromise her work. Her eyes narrow. “Don’t make me come after you, Rogers.”

“Have some dinner, Hill. I can call you takeout if that’s what you prefer. But you’ve been at that for more than a few hours, and your body needs fuel.”

“ _My_ body needs fuel?” Her eyes narrow at him.

“I could do with a snack,” he tells her. “So, yes, I get something out of it, too. Two somethings, in fact – the second being the pleasure of your company.”

Hill’s snort is disbelieving. “Seriously? You don’t need the gallantry to get fed, Rogers.”

Surprised at the sharpness in her voice, it takes him a moment to realise she’s very serious, and she very seriously thinks that he’s joking. Steve opens his mouth to argue the point, then closes it, and simply asks, “What do you feel like eating?”

It turns out that Commander Maria Hill likes pepperoni pizza with anchovies. And comes from Chicago which she claims has unparalleled deep-dish pizza. Naturally, as a native New Yorker, Steve can’t let this claim slide unchallenged.

By the time the pizza arrives, they’re deep in a discussion of government corruption, the civic duty of citizens to vote, and whether voting actually counts or changes anything in the political landscape. And if they disagree on some points, they’re both firm believers in the duty of the individual in the bigger picture, and of the reciprocal duty of the bigger picture to also look after the individuals who can’t look after themselves.

Which Steve supposes should be no surprise, given what they’re doing, who they are.

The pizzas come with a small tub of ice-cream which she starts on once she’s had a couple of slices, having fetched spoons from the kitchen. And she’s comfortable enough to eat it straight from the tub in front of him, her lips closing around the spoon with a thoughtful crease to her brow as she considers his comments about the lack of privacy in the modern world – particularly in regards to celebrity.

When he gestures for the ice-cream – the sweets available these days are beyond anything he remembers back in his day – she hands it over, unthinking, and doesn’t bat an eyelash as he spoons a mouthful up.

They swap the ice-cream and points of view until the ice-cream is gone.

* * *

When Maria was promised a resource to assist her undercover, the last person she expects is Captain America in an SUV, waiting outside the rink where the rec league plays.

 _Dark blue Grand Cherokee, numberplate—_ Maria’s stride doesn’t hitch as she sees who’s in the driver’s seat, and walks around to the passenger side to climb in. It’s warm inside, compared to the frosty temperatures out. “Hey. Didn’t think you’d be back for another week.”

“The job finished early,” Rogers says with perfect truth and rather more facility than she exepcted from him. “How’s things with you?”

Maria sees the next cluster of women coming out of the rink and heading across the parking lot. And Rogers got a park close to the door, which means most of the women walking past are going to take a look at him, particularly since she’s told them she’s single. And if they look once, they’ll look twice, because Rogers is Rogers and _everyone_ takes a second glance.

So she leans over, touches his chin to turn his face towards hers, murmurs, “Look here,” and kisses him.

He gets the gist without prompting, leaning in like they really are long-separated lovers, sliding one hand into her hair, moving his mouth against hers like he can’t get enough.

It’s enough to send a woman into a tailspin, warm jolts of sensual electricity earthing themselves in her belly and breasts. It’s been a while since a guy could do that to Maria. Pity it’s all a fakeout.

The wolf-whistles and laughter from outside give her an opportunity – and a reminder – that this is for show. Maria pulls back and gives the girls the finger, and after more than a couple of thumbs-ups and catcalls they move on.

“Friends?” Rogers sounds like he’s having trouble getting his tongue around the words.

Maria glances at him, smiling like he’s said something funny. But her cheeks feel hot and her heart has upped the beat just a little. “The woman coming out the door now with the red and white bag of equipment? That’s Sharise, Boytrovik’s mistress. Her ‘boyfriend’ is in town tonight. She’s been pretty excited about it.”

“Does she know what he does?”

“Doubtful.” The other woman is good on the ice – nice soft hands, good passes – but she’s not what Maria would consider particularly astute. Then again, ‘Ria Hilliers, thirty-something single suburbanite, isn’t terribly cunning either. Maria doesn’t have Romanoff’s gift of blending into her role; if she’s going undercover, she needs to be something completely different, or her natural personality seeps through. Her sense of self is too strong to bear anything but a complete transplant into a shell persona. “And that’s him now.”

Steve glances up at the lights of the black SUV driving into the parking lot. “Are we tailing him?”

“I put a tracker in her bag while we were in the locker room.”

He nods, approvingly. “We’d better head out then.” He shifts the car into gear and pauses. “So, before, when you kissed me—”

Maria gives him a look that holds nothing of the heat balling in her belly. This cannot go anywhere and to even try is to court heartbreak and trouble. “You know about camouflage, right?”

“Yeah. I know.”

She wishes she could let herself believe his smile is rueful.

* * *

Steve is two steps into the lounge when he realises there’s a woman standing at the window, silhouetted against the cloudy sky. Her back is to the door; she’s staring out over the city where the first flurries of snow are drifting down across the city.

Like the first time, she doesn’t turn around.

“Captain.”

“Maria.” She doesn’t have a rank anymore – no formal title he can use to put distance between them. Not that he wants to. “Heard from Fury lately?”

“No. He’s not one for calling every week.” A sideways glance as he comes to stand alongside her. “Neither are you.”

“It’s not a crime.”

“No.”

There’s not much to see in the snow; he’d rather turn his gaze on her – a sleek black dress, high heels, a slim gold chain around her throat – the picture of an elegant business executive, contemplating her empire. Pepper Potts exudes cool professional calm – doubtless learned in her years working for Stark – but Maria exudes something a little more dangerous than the air of an executive with a plan and the panache to pull it off. She has the authority and autocracy of an ancient battle-queen who wouldn’t hesitate to execute a man for treason with her own hand – or perhaps for merely speaking his mind.

This woman, he thinks, is not tame. She walks within the lines because it costs her nothing – at least in the present moment. But he has little doubt that if Maria Hill had to cut herself free, she would. She’d do it without regrets, without looking back, and she’d do it alone, on the strength of her own judgement, going against everyone and everything she’d previously trusted if she thought the benefits outweighed the costs.

There’s something very attractive about that.

Steve supposes he’s never been particularly tame himself. Even before the serum he was limited, perhaps, but not _tame_.

“Where are you staying for Thanksgiving? Did you decide to take up Sam’s offer?”

Of course she’d know about Sam’s offer. “What are your plans?”

“Probably a quiet one here in the Tower. Pepper said Tony was thinking of heading out to the Caribbean.” She glances at him. “You could probably ask to join them if you’d rather not stay with the snow.”

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, holding her gaze so she can’t misinterpret him. “A quiet one in the Tower sounds nice.”

Blue eyes widen before her lashes drop down over her eyes. “You don’t have to keep me company, Rogers.”

“You don’t command me anymore, Maria. And I’d _like_ to keep company with you.” He uses the phrase – old-fashioned even for him – quite deliberately, and sees the rise of pink up her nape and over her ears, although it doesn’t touch her cheeks.

“Thanksgiving company?”

“Thanksgiving company.” He waits a beat, then adds, “Among other things.”

She looks him up and down, frank and appraising. “You sure about that?”

“I could show you how sure I am, but I doubt this lounge is secured.”

“And there’s JARVIS.”

“And him.” Steve doesn’t hold his breath, but he’s very aware of his heartbeat. This isn’t a flirtation in an elevator, a smile in a street café, or a cup of coffee offered casually, this is something more serious, more chancy: a woman who can’t be dismissed afterwards, who won’t be avoidable. “Well, Maria?”

Maria looks him in the eye. “Okay, Steve. Thanksgiving. And other things.”

Relief makes him punchy in a way no fight ever has. “We could start with dinner tonight,” he says, smiling to ease the tension. “Since we’re in New York, and I have a reputation to uphold on the deep-dish pizza front…”

Her laughter is bright and unexpected, a lightning crawling down his spine and into his balls, a fisting clutch in his gut, like something has taken hold of his stomach and is squeezing.

Steve moves without thinking; two steps, an arm around her waist, the flex of her hand on his shoulder, the way her breath catches in her mouth in that instant before lips meet lips and the lounge isn’t secured but who ca—

Outside, snow flurries down on the streets of New York city, unnoticed.


End file.
